


A New Year's Surprise

by TheMightyFlynn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9277262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyFlynn/pseuds/TheMightyFlynn
Summary: Oliver is surprised to discover that his New Year’s Eve isn’t going to be as uneventful as he had planned.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for mini_fest as a pinch hit!

“Hello? Is there anyone here?”

A small frown creased Oliver’s brow as he followed the sound of a young girl’s voice through his shop. It wasn’t the voice itself that had him frowning – his was the only Quidditch supply store in Hogsmeade, so he got all kinds of customers – but the American accent.

“I’m just behind you, miss,” he called as he rounded the end of one of the aisles to find the girl standing at the counter, her back to him. “I was actually just about to close up for the night, though, so–”

“Holy shit, are you _Oliver Wood_?”

Oliver froze as he stepped out of the aisle and blinked in surprise. The girl couldn’t have been much older than nine or ten and, while he was fully aware that children used that kind of language – hell, he had used much worse at her age – it still came as a bit of a shock to hear it directed at him. He couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his face when her eyes widened and she smacked her hand over her mouth.

“Oh, damn it, sorry! Dad’s always on me to stop swearing, but… _Wow_. I’ve been watching your games since I was a little kid, you know. I was so disappointed when you had to retire the other year! Dad’s a Brit and he’s always told me stories about you when you were in school. He reckons that the two of you went to school together and that he actually played Quidditch against you! I don’t believe him, though. There’s no way that _my_ dad could be _that_ cool.”

“Well, thanks, I think.” The girl grinned broadly at him when he frowned again. “Miss…?”

“Oh! Claudia; my name’s Claudia.” She paused, a strange glint coming into her eyes. “Flint.”

Oliver could feel his eyes widening as he shook her offered hand. _Flint_. Now that he was close enough to take a proper look at the girl, he could see it. Claudia had her father’s stormy grey eyes and pitch black hair, but it wasn’t just that that was so strikingly similar between the girl before him and the boy he remembered from school. She was quite tall for her age, had a toothy grin that let Oliver know that she had also inherited her father’s dental issues, and a peculiar way of standing that was much more slouch than anything else.

“You’re Marcus Flint’s daughter?” Oliver couldn’t help smiling again as Claudia’s eyes widened comically. “I haven’t seen him in…” He sighed. “Twenty years?”

Had it really been that long since the end of school? Oliver supposed it must have been. He didn’t get long to contemplate the idea, however, as Claudia’s face fell in obvious disappointment.

“So, you haven’t seen him today?” It was fascinating to Oliver how quickly she could go from confident and forthright to unsure and worried: her dark eyebrows came together in confusion, her arms folded across her stomach, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Are you sure?”

She looked so forlorn that Oliver’s heart went out to her. Taking her hand, he guided her back behind the counter and indicated that she should take a seat on the stool he kept there. This wasn’t the first lost child he had had wander into his shop, but she was the first in quite a while; most parents kept a tight hold of their children around New Year’s, just in case. He knelt in front of her, ignoring the throb of pain in his bad knee.

“You’ve lost him?”

Claudia nodded. “He said that he was going to go and see whether there were any rooms available around here that weren’t in pubs. He said that he remembered the Hog’s Head and the Three Broomsticks and he didn’t want me in either one, so he was going to find somewhere more suitable for us to stay over New Year’s, but…” She trailed off, looking ever more uncomfortable by the second.

“‘But’?” Oliver prompted.

She sighed. “Alright, look. _I know_ I said that I’d stay in Honeydukes. _I know_ I should have stayed there until he came back. But they were closing for the night and they said that I should go find him! They said that there isn’t that many places for people to stay in Hogsmeade and that finding my dad would be easy! But I couldn’t just walk around in that storm out there, look!”

Oliver followed the direction of her pointed finger. She was right: it was snowing rather heavily outside the windows of the shop. He offered up what he hoped was a reassuring smile before reaching to cup her hands in between his own. She was clearly wearing four, maybe five layers of clothing but none of those layers included gloves. He rubbed her fingers between his hands to warm them for a few seconds.

“Did he say exactly where he was going?”

“No, just that he was going to look for a place to stay.”

“Alright… Alright, I’ll tell you what.” Oliver released her hands and pushed himself up to a standing position, wincing as his knee let out a loud crack. “I’m going to get you some gloves, then the two of us are going to go looking for your da.”

He didn’t wait to hear her response. The throbbing in his knee lasted while he went to the back of the shop to grab his thick coat, two pairs of warm, well-worn gloves, then back into the shopfront.

“That limp…” Claudia paused, her eyes locked onto his left leg. “That’s why you had to retire, isn’t it?”

Oliver smiled. He was more than used to prying questions directed at him about various parts of his anatomy by curious fans by that time. “It is indeed. I got knocked off my broom and landed hard on my leg one too many times. The Healers at St. Mungo’s told me that if I continued to play, I would lose full use of it.” He paused so he could shrink one pair of gloves down to fit her much smaller hands. “Here we are, try these on.”

“You… You’re just giving me your gloves?” There was a tone of both surprise and awe to her voice that had Oliver smiling again.

“If you want them, then yes. The only ones I have that would fit you in store are Quidditch gloves and they’re missing the fingertips.”

“Hell yes I want them,” she exclaimed, her eyes going wide again as she slipped her hands into the gloves. “ _No one_ back home is going to believe where these came from!”

With a small shake of his head, Oliver shrugged into his coat. He was more than used to crazy fans by that time – he had played for Puddlemere as both a reserve and as Keeper for seventeen years before being forced into retirement at age thirty-five – but it was unusual for him to spend any length of time with any one of them these days. Most people walked into his shop, got an autograph or a photo, bought something, then left, never to be seen again. It sometimes got to a point where his friends joked that he was more of a tourist attraction in Hogsmeade these days than Hogwarts was. With another shake of his head to clear his thoughts, Oliver pulled his gloves on and turned to face Claudia.

“Has your da ever side-along Apparated you before?”

“A few times.” She reached to grasp Oliver’s hand in her own, surprising him once again with her directness. “Where are we going?”

“There’s only one place I can think of in Hogsmeade that would pass a ‘needing a clean, safe place for my daughter’ inspection: Caterina’s Bed and Breakfast. If he’s not there, then you can wait in the lobby and I’ll go out searching for him.”

Caterina’s was, for all intents and purposes, the Bed and Breakfast version of Madame Puddifoot’s. It was even run by her granddaughter. Lace and gingham seemed to cover nearly every available surface that wasn’t decorated with a picture of a cat and the scent of vanilla permeating the place was so strong that Oliver automatically held his breath when they landed. He didn’t get a chance to do much else, however, as Claudia shot off towards the door with a shout the second she had righted herself.

“Dad! Dad, I’m right here!”

She sprinted out the door so quickly that Oliver had no chance to do anything other than give chase. “Claudia, wait!”

“No! Dad, I’m here, stop!”

The wind cut straight through Oliver’s coat when he threw the door open and chased after her. He could see a dark figure slowly trudging through the snow up ahead of them, but how Claudia was so sure it could be her father was beyond him. Ducking his head against the wind, he gave chase as fast as the snow and his bad leg would allow.

His trouser legs and socks were the first causalities, with the snow melting rapidly the second it touched him. He could only imagine how wet Claudia’s clothing must be by the time he caught up to her, but was thankful that it seemed to have slowed her down.

“Claudia!”

“No, that’s my dad. He’s right there!”

Oliver was barely able to hear her over the sound of the wind, but there was a desperation to what he could hear of her voice that caused him to pause. He let out a sigh before drawing his wand and shooting sparks just past the dark figure in front of them. The man turned and, with a deep shout that Oliver had no problem hearing, began to run. Claudia rushed forward to throw herself into the man’s arms the second he was close enough. They stayed like that long enough that the thought that they may have succumbed to the cold and simply frozen in place crossed Oliver’s mind, causing him to roll his eyes. Stepping forward, he placed one hand on the man’s shoulder, one on Claudia’s and Apparated all three of them into the hallway of his home.

“I – _Wood_?”

Oliver blinked the snow out of his eyes before smiling up at the man before him. “Marcus Flint. I never thought I’d see you again.”

Tall and strongly built as ever, Flint hadn’t really changed all that much since school, if you discounted the grey spots beginning to appear through his otherwise pitch black hair. He stood and stared down at Oliver for a few seconds before seeming to remember that he should respond.

“I… Yeah, yeah, me either, really.” Shifting Claudia’s position on his hip, he held out a hand for Oliver to shake. “You found my daughter?”

“Well, she found me, really; wandered into the shop looking for you,” Oliver responded with a small smile. “But you’re both drenched. Come in, come in. I’ll get you dry, warm and fed.”

It was only after many protests that he really shouldn’t impose on Oliver like this and that he really didn’t need food or a hot drink – all of which Oliver shut down politely but firmly – that Flint settled down on one of the lounge chairs Oliver dragged over by the fire. Claudia had already long since fallen asleep by the fire in the dining room, covered with a thick blanket while her clothing dried naturally rather than with a charm, but all Flint would accept was a mug of hot chocolate. Oliver had to admit that it felt a little strange to be sitting in his living room with Marcus Flint warming his fingers around one of the mugs that Percy had gifted Oliver with on Christmas, but he knew he couldn’t have just left Claudia on her own, especially considering with weather outside.

“So,” he began after the silence between them had gone on a little too long. “America, huh?”

Flint hummed. “They exiled me for twenty years as punishment for my role in the war.” He offered up a grin that shocked Oliver into smiling back when Oliver’s eyebrows rose in question. “I wasn’t important enough to ‘the cause’ to be Marked, but I still needed to be punished. So, I was sent away.” Flint seemed to have no compunction over telling his story, but it still shocked Oliver even more when he rolled up the sleeve of his woollen jumper to expose a tattooed but un-Marked left forearm. “I settled in California – that’s where I met Claudia’s mother – and made a life for myself there. This is the first year that I’ve been allowed back into Britain since the end of the war and I think it’s come just in time. This way Claudia can go to school at Hogwarts instead of Ilvermorny, and I can see whether it’s possible for me to get some work back home.”

Oliver found himself nodding along as Flint spoke. The picture he painted of his life seemed like it would have been rather lonely to Oliver, but he knew he had no right to comment on it at all; they hadn’t been friends during school and Oliver had honestly thought that they would never see each other again.

“She idolises you, you know.”

Oliver brought his mug to his lips to hide the smile Flint’s words caused. “She mentioned not believing you when you told her that we went to school together?”

“No, she doesn’t, the little brat.”

Oliver’s smile widened as he watched Flint grinning at the fire, obviously lost in some memory or other. It was clear to him that the two of them had an affectionate relationship as father and daughter and the idea sent a rush of warmth straight through him. When he had thought of Flint over the years, he hadn’t once considered that he may have been settled and happy with a wife and child, but it seemed to suit him quite well. Oliver let out a small sigh as he wriggled his toes towards the fire.

“How about your wife? What does she do?”

“Ah.” Flint turned to face Oliver, the grin diminishing into a small smile. “She passed. Five years ago.”

“Shit, I’m sorry! I saw the wedding band and just assumed.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I keep the band on out of some kind of stupid sentimentality that she would have hexed me for.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“She was ill.” Flint sighed as he leant back and stretched his long legs out toward the fire. “We knew it was coming and had all the time we needed to put things in order and for her to say goodbye to everyone. I’ve been with people since, but there’s not that many out there willing to take on not just me, but also my ten-year-old daughter.”

A strong wash of sympathy caught Oliver by surprise and he had to look away. Staring down into his mug of chocolate, he completely missed Flint standing and stretching in front of the fire.

“I really should thank you, you know.”

Oliver only just managed to hold back a gasp. His eyes trailed up Flint’s long legs and over his clearly well-muscled chest to meet his eyes.

“No, you don’t.

“ _Yes_ , I do.”

“No, it’s fine, really.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

“I was ju–”

Oliver’s words were cut off as Flint stepped forward to seal their lips together. This time, Oliver did gasp as he eyes widened in shock. Flint pulled back after only a few seconds, still close enough that Oliver had no choice other than to meet his eyes.

“Oliver?”

Oliver’s eyes dropped to Flint’s lips. He hummed in response, his mind scrambling to catch up to what was happening to him.

“Thank you.”

With a grin, Flint moved off out of Oliver’s line-of-sight. How long he sat frozen in his lounge chair, Oliver had no idea, but when he finally came out of the shock that had settled over him, it was to find his heart racing and his fingers trembling. Pushing himself to his feet, he grabbed his now-empty mug and made straight for the kitchen, the only other room he had let Flint into at that point. Flint was standing with his hips resting back against the sink, his arms crossed across his chest and with a smug smirk firmly in place.

“That – I…” Oliver paused to let out a gusty sigh when Flint chuckled at him. “You kissed me.”

“Noticed, did you?”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed at the amused tone to Flint’s voice. “It was a little difficult to miss.”

“It’s nice to know that I leave a good impression.”

“Oh, I didn’t say it was good.”

Oliver bit his tongue to prevent himself from smiling as Flint now narrowed his eyes at him. If that was the way Flint wished to play this, then Oliver was more than willing.

“Is that so?”

“Sorry, but yes. Maybe you’re just out of practice or something?”

The second kiss Flint pressed to Oliver’s lips was much more aggressive. One of his large hands tangled through Oliver’s hair and his free arm wrapped tightly around Oliver’s waist, drawing them close together. Oliver more than willingly opened his mouth when Flint bit his bottom lip. His own hands moved restlessly over what he could reach of Flint without stepping backwards, one coming to rest around Flint’s broad shoulders and the other clenching in the front of his jumper. They were both panting when Flint broke the kiss.

“Better?”

“Mmm, much.” Flint’s grey eyes were dilated nearly completely black when Oliver met them. There was a fire deep inside them that Oliver hadn’t seen directed at him in too long. “I have spare rooms; you can stay here rather than a hotel, if you want.”

“‘Rooms’?”

The ‘s’ on the end of the word seemed to hiss around the room, as one of Flint’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. Before Oliver could respond, he dropped the hand that was around Oliver’s waist down so he could squeeze his arse.

“That had better be a promise,” Oliver growled in response.

He pulled back when the sound of light footsteps reached his ears from the hallway. His eyes automatically went to the clock on the wall, trying to work out just how long he would have to wait.

“As I _clearly_ need practice, yes, it had better be.”

Unable to help himself, Oliver burst out laughing just before Claudia entered the room. Over her objections that she wanted to know what was so funny, Flint took her into the living room. He shot Oliver a grin as they passed, which sent a shot of warmth straight down his spine. This was definitely not how Oliver had pictured spending his New Year’s Eve, but his night seemed to be improving with each passing second.


End file.
